Memories- Erased in the Storm
by White Rose of Wutai
Summary: After the events of season 1, episode 9 - 'Home', John sits in Missouri's sitting room, and reflects on how he treated Sam as a child. TRIGGER WARNING! Child abuse by father (physical)


**Memories; Erased in the Storm** – Just a short thing I thought of whilst watching S1Ep9 – Home.  
Slight spoilers for this episode, and also for Mary's death/Sam's back-story. |  
**TRIGGER WARNING; Child abuse by father.**

'_Mary's spirit...Do you really think she saved the boys?'  
'I do.'_

_John lightly stroked the wedding band, twisting it around his finger absentmindedly.  
Missouri could see the thoughts and memories ricocheting around his mind. She sighed.  
'John Winchester, I could just slap you! Why don't you go talk to your children?'_

"Please Daddy, I'm sorry!"  
John paused for a moment, hand raised above his head, as his youngest son whimpered and cowered on the floor. Sam was looking up at him, eyes brimming with tears that even at the tender age of 5, he knew better then to let fall in front of his father.  
John's expression softened momentarily. It almost broke his heart to see such hurt and fear in those hazel eyes- eyes so much like Mary's.

He knew that Sam would be able to see the emotions cross his face as he thought of Mary. For some reason, this made him still angrier at the boy. He gripped Sam's arm tightly, eliciting a squeal of pain. This gave John a cold sense of satisfaction, and he squeezed even tighter as he brought his hand down, dealing a resounding slap across his son's face. He dealt out another, and another; his eyes blank, mouth pulled into a tight grimace, ears deaf to the yells and pleas of his youngest, as his palm curled into fist, and slaps became punches. He dragged Sam up off the floor and pinned him to the wall by his throat, delivering harder and harder punched to his face and tender stomach. Tears clouded his own vision, but John did not let that deter him. Without even really thinking about it, he threw Sam back down to the floor. Again he ignored the screams of pain, and a sickening crack, as his foot collided with his son's ribs, over and over. He did not stop kicking until the yelps and screams had become quiet, resigned whimpers.

His breath was ragged and course, as his properly looked down at the child at his feet. As their eyes met, Sam weakly stretched out a hand towards his father. His face was covered in tears, his eyes were swollen almost shut, and blood was pouring out of his nose, and several cuts above his eyes and on his cheeks. The hand not reaching for John was cupped protectively around his crotch- which John saw was damp with urine- and his breath was harsh and choked.  
Reality hit John hard, and his fatherly instincts finally kicked in, as he gently scooped up his son into a protective embrace, and carried him into the bathroom of their motel room. Still holding Sam with one hand, he ran a bath and carefully removed Sam's clothing, guilt pulsing through him every time the child winced or hissed in pain. He lay Sam in the bath, supporting his head with his arm, so it would not slip under the water- which was already tinged pink with blood.  
'I'm sorry, Daddy.' Sam croaked, slowly turning his head towards his father, and half opening his swollen eyes. 'I'm sorry Mommy died 'cuz of me. I'm sorry I ruined everything.' His voice hitched and broke off, tears escaping his eyes and rolling into the murky bathwater.  
'Shhhhh, Sammy.' John soothed, stroking Sam's water and blood soaked hair. 'I'M sorry, kiddo. I shouldn't have gotten so mad at you like that. Daddy promises it won't happen again.'

Sam smiles weakly and gently nuzzled against his father's hand. They both are fully aware of the emptiness of the promise. This is the way it always happens when leads on Mary's killer turn cold, and they both know it. But it is comforting to pretend- just for a while.

When Sam is bathed, dried, his wounds dressed and he is curled up in the bed he and Dean share, John sits on the adjacent bed, glass of whiskey in hand, watching the rise and fall of his son's chest as he sleeps. He sighs, dropping his head into his hand. He wishes he could just have told Sam that his mother's death wasn't his fault, but the words always catch in his throat. He knew there was no way that Sammy- only a baby at the time- caused his wife's death...But that didn't stop him from blaming him.  
Especially now he knew about the demon blood.

He grabbed the Impala keys and his hunting sack almost as soon as Dean walked through the door; barking out the usual orders about guns and salt lines to his eldest.  
'And watch out for Sammy.' He practically spat out, before striding out and driving away into the approaching night- the way he always did after losing it with Sam. He never came back until he was sure Dean had nursed his brother back to health, despite his eldest only being only just turned ten himself.

_John let the memory flood his mind, well aware that Missouri would see it all, hoping it would tell her what he could not bring himself to put to words out loud;  
if Mary had sacrificed herself to save Sam again... He cannot be to blame for her death. Which meant that every time John had raised his hand to Sam, evey time he had beaten him- every time he told himself the kid deserved it for what had happened to Mary- he had been wrong? Mary's wish- her dying act even- had been to keep her baby safe.  
He had worse then failed her.  
He had downright violated her memory. _

_He kept his eyes trained on the wedding band, avoiding all possible eye contact with the psychic.  
'I want to. You have no idea how much I want to see 'em. But I can't. Not yet. Not until I know the truth.'_


End file.
